


Be Of Service

by thewolfsbane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Character Death, Cock Slut, F/M, Iraq, Knotting, M/M, Marine Corps, Oral Sex, PTSD Derek, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slutty!stiles, Top Derek, Top Derek Hale, Top Stiles Stilinski, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfsbane/pseuds/thewolfsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has arrived back from his third tour as a marine in Iraq. He's numb, most likely suffering from PTSD. So, first night back, he heads to a bar and accidentally picks someone up. This is a story of recovery, love and pain. </p><p>Features Slutty!Stiles and Werewolves are known (but not liked).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Please note all referenced to the Marines are researched and not experience.  
> Please critique my work! But don't be too mean as I am a marshmallow of tender feels. Also, I write in British-English being from New Zealand, so if some of my phrases need to be Americanised, please let me know! Other than that, enjoy! 
> 
> Also, Beta required for my horrid writing. Clearly this chapter isn't beta'd so excuse the fact I change tenses all the time. It's a bad habit.

Derek had known one tour would change him. One tour is enough to change any man or woman. Seeing your platoon fight, lose, die; it creates a crack in your body as if it were created from fragile glass. After the death of his family, he needed an output for his anger; somewhere where he could expel his sadness and rage and the Marines seemed to be a wise option. While Derek was not a patriotic man, he knew his resentment could be dedicated to something more useful then pining around home or killing Argent hunters. Even if the Argents broke the law but were not being reprimanded, he knew he should not uphold justice himself. Were’s were still gaining faith with society even though Wolves had been known for years, he didn’t want to be the one to break it. He lay low, completed training and was deployed. Were’s were kept in separate platoons and sent to more dangerous areas. None of them argued, for they knew why. Why risk mere mortals, when Were’s who are less prone to death and can heal fast, can deal with it.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek sat in the cab, listening to the hum of music drifting from the driver’s seat. He had refused to place his seabag in the trunk and used it as an armrest instead. Derek felt like he had not been in Beacon Hills for decades, but had only been eight months. The trees ran by just as they always did and the same houses scattered the streets. Surprisingly, nothing had changed, but everything had all at once. This was the third time he had arrived home under such circumstances. And every time, it had grown worse. Derek could not recognise things that were once so familiar. The faces he once said hello to, were now just hazy stains on a bloodied sheet.

“Sir.”

Quickly returning to reality with the aid of voice, he noticed they had stopped outside his loft.

“I said we are here.”

Derek gathered his bag, shuffled out of the car, slipped a twenty to the driver and said thanks before standing on the path outside of his loft for some long period of time.

Time. Time was strange and odd to Derek now. He used to have nothing but the moon to guide his sense when his watch was lost in the desert terrain of Iraq. But now he knew what time it was, he could see it go by too quickly. It simply vanished.

His home hadn’t changed all too much; still that musty shade of grey, still empty, still unlived in. Derek threw his seabag onto the floor and stared bleakly at his surroundings. The phone began to rang. He questioned if he should answer it. He did.

“Derek?” It was Cora. Oh, how Derek had not realised how much he missed the voice of his sister until now.

“Cora.” He whispered.

“Derek? Home safe? I can’t talk long.”

“How’s South America treating you?” He asked.

“Good. I missed it. Beacon Hills wasn’t what it used to be.” She laughed. “Look, I’ll call you when I get better range. But, I’m glad you’re home.”

Derek exchanged pleasantries and hung up.

 

Derek had not allowed himself to drink a single sip of alcohol in his absence. He found the longer his tour, the better the booze tasted when he got home. And this theory proved correct again. Derek’s poison was whiskey, and he managed to get 12 pegs before feeling something, but his werewolf self wouldn’t allow the feeling to last long. But in one spur of a moment, Derek decided to visit a pub-turned-club he used to visit when he was happy; before all of this marine bullshit.

Why a club? He didn’t know. All Derek knew was that although his tired eyes and unshaven face would prove different in a club full of young, sweaty teenagers’, the music and the alcohol would make him feel temporarily alive. The club was only a block or two away, so he opted for walking.

 

Much like all the things on his arrival, the club was still the same. Blue and pink neon lights adorned the outside and much the same on the inside. The music was loud and thumping; which made Derek feel a little on edge. He would jump at some of the sudden noises; they reminded him of sounds on the battlefield. But when numb, the sounds did not affect him as much as they would sober. He already regretted being there; and he wasn’t even inside. This was so unlike him now, he didn’t do things like this. Derek felt stupid; he wasn’t a teenager anymore, but he did have the stamina.

 

Derek was the youngest sitting at the bar which was littered with prowlers looking for young boys and girls to take home. Derek did not have these intentions, but it probably looked like it as he sat amongst the much-too-old-to-be-here types. But Derek did not want to get up and dance or make a fool of himself just to make it seem like he fitted in more. Derek just wanted to pretend like he was sociable and able to tell anyone who asked (not that anyone would) that he had been out the first night he was back.

 

He stayed there for an hour or so, drinking scotch after whiskey, watching people dance well or not. Observing the way everyone grinded against each other and were not fazed by the exchange of sweat. Derek shivered at the idea.

 

Eventually, Derek decided he must leave and headed for the door as he was appearing to look much like one of the lurkers beside him. But just as he reached the door, a boy, probably far too young for him, stumbled into the club with a friend and bumped passed Derek. Derek was fascinated at the slender and mole sprinkled boy. The way he so simply took to the dance floor and let loose compared to the other patrons. He was so fluid and moved gracefully; he became the music. His friend, dark skinned and tall, rubbed against the boy easily and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. The neon lights flashed and the music rushed through Derek.

“Danny, you didn’t tell me you could dance!” Derek heard the boy yell.

“Are you kidding? I live in these places!” Danny replied, equally as loud.

Derek was flustered all of a sudden. He hadn’t been so uneasy about seeing someone for a long time and the music began to get to him. All of a sudden, everything became fuzzy and his breathing was quick. Derek blamed the alcohol, even though it rarely affected him. He decided to go and douse himself in water before leaving; wandering back to the bathrooms. Derek gazed in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together.” he whispered to his reflection.

Just then, a familiar faced boy pushed open the bathroom door and headed to the mirror next to him. Derek peered over, trying to be subtle but ultimately resulting in the same look being returned. His dog tags fell out of his shirt and he quickly tucked them back in.

“Army boy.” The boy laughed, washing off his hands in the basin.

“Marines.” Derek corrected, making sure the tags were securely in his shirt. Derek hated the attention the marines brought him. He usually said he went and worked on boats on Malaysia for months and only came back in the off season. Derek frequently got away with the lie.

“Ah. Cute.”

Derek thought about how there was nothing cute at all about being a marine, but decided to brush the inconsideration off.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m Derek.”

“Why are you introducing yourself to me, Derek?” He laughed. “But hey, I’m Stiles.”

Stiles turned his back to the mirror and leaned his ass on the basin, his hips curving insatiably. Derek did that same, wiping his forehead and sighing.

“Too much out there?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t do well to loud noises.” Derek answered.

“You don’t like loud noises and you’re at a club? Wow.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it would be fun. Wrong choice.” Derek rubbed his temples.

They sat in silence for a bit. Why the hell was this kid still sitting here? Derek was consumed in thought, disregarding the fact that this striking young boy was sitting in touching distance. Derek felt the warmth drifting over from the now apparently soaked Stiles. He’d obviously been to multiple clubs that night, probably covered in various types of liquids; not just sweat. What was the time if Stiles had managed to get around?

_It’s 1am? How?_

“We could make it fun?”

Stiles’ voice dragged Derek out of his own head.

“I’m sorry?” Derek said, confused. Stiles looked at Derek suggestively and Derek quite frankly did not know what to do. He hadn’t come here for a fuck. Not his intentions at all. But boy, did this kid have an alluring and inviting look in his eye. His gaze comfortable, but rough, and Derek craved that.

Stiles stood up from his basin and sauntered over to Derek, let Derek’s legs come between his own and ground himself against Derek in an adorable straddle. Stiles inhaled deeply and Derek’s breath hitched.

Stiles had never been with an older guy. It was unexperienced teenagers for him, which he guessed made him unexperienced, so was extremely eager to try a bit of this man in the bathroom.

“What about that boy out there?” Derek let out. Stiles laughed and reassured Derek that he was just a friend.

They stood there, in that very position for a few minutes; Derek feeling Stiles grind on him, breathing against his neck.

 

“We are in a bathroom.”

“Great observation, Private Know It All.”

“That’s Corporal to you.” Derek smirked. Stiles touched noses with Derek, tempted to kiss, but did not. They rested on each other.

“But seriously, Stiles, this isn’t classy.”

But Stiles didn’t seem to care. He was unremitting.

“We can go back to mine.” Derek offered, running his hands down Stiles’ back. “Come on, boy. Hop off.”

“Alright, alright.” Stiles eventually caved, stepping back off Derek. Stiles eagerly skipped out of the bathroom, staring back at Derek to make sure he was following. He made for the door while Stiles went and updated Danny at his new circumstances, but he was quickly reunited with Derek.

 

* * *

 

 

“No car?” Stiles questioned.

“Was I meant to have a car?” Derek shrugged.

“Cars are usually what I get taken away in after I get picked up.”

“If I recall, you picked _me_ up.”

“True.”

“I only live around the corner.”

 

The two exchanged in quiet banter as they made their way to Derek’s loft. Stiles attempted to grab hold of Derek’s hand along the way but Derek lightly brushed it off. He didn’t want Stiles to get the wrong idea. He had only just come home, and right now, Stiles was just a welcome home fuck. Derek didn’t think he would get it this fast, though. But he wasn’t complaining; a young, lean and gorgeous boy, probably good in bed by his remark about being picked up and hopefully well and pleasantly endowed.

 

They reached the lobby and hopped into the elevator that led to Derek’s garret. Stiles advanced on Derek and they kissed for a while, even when they had reached the loft. Stiles was avid, constant and a cute kind of needy. He continually returned for Derek’s taste and Derek was happy to provide.

 

“Come on, Stiles. I’m sure we can find something more comfortable than the elevator.”

 

Derek pecked at Stiles all the way into his home; his hands wrapped around Stiles’ small waist and lips leading him to Derek’s bedroom. Stiles pushed Derek onto the cold, unslept bed and straddled Derek at the crotch. He began to sensually and relentlessly dip up and down on Derek’s now more obvious arousal like he did in the bathroom. Only now did Stiles realise that Derek was a werewolf.

 

“I like to tease. Especially for a wolf.” Stiles grinned, watching Derek bite his bottom lip and bow his head to watch Stiles rock unrelentingly; he had never been with a wolf, but he had heard stories of knotting and how painfully delicious it was.

 

“I can tell.” Derek growled. His eyes glowed momentarily, but he pulled it under control. Derek was very good at monitoring himself; he knew when to stop, how to stop. But Derek could not help his knotting. He throbbed inside of his jeans. Derek was trying to hold himself back as he had not been touched since the last time he was in Beacon Hills. He was sensitive and couldn’t stop it.

 

Stiles bent down and pecked his lips down Derek’s shirt before crawling off of his crotch and skilfully undoing Derek’s jeans and sliding them off. Derek sat up and clutched Stiles’ face with his hands. He began to kiss the corners of Stiles’ lips before savouring the taste of his mouth. Derek couldn’t help but think of how beautiful this boy was. He had seen many teenage boys in his life, but none were as outstanding as this.

 

Stiles smirked and rocked his head out of Derek’s hands and returned to his work. He allowed for Derek’s splendour to spring out of his underwear and Stiles was pleased. He ran his tongue around the tip and Derek threw his head back onto the pillow. Oh god, this felt good for Derek. He hadn’t felt something this good in months, let alone feel anything. He was always so numb and so this was everything to him.

 

Stiles’ tongue continued to do this for a minute or two, barely tickling the tip of Derek’s penis.

“Put it in, boy.” Derek snarled. “Put it in now.”

Stiles chuckled and plunged Derek’s cock into his mouth. Stiles took to Derek’s knot so easily in his mouth. He let the tip of Derek’s cock smack the back of his throat and liked the feeling of choking a little. Stiles pulled his own shirt off his body, only letting go of Derek’s dick for a few seconds to do so. Derek rested his hand on Stiles’ head, guiding his mouth up and down his shaft and sometimes over his knot.

“Oh god.” Derek spoke lightly, feeling himself needing to have a release.

“They’re bigger than I thought.” Stiles sat up and spoke. Derek simply gazed up at him.

“I wonder if I can take it.”

“Most can’t on the first try.”

“Is that a challenge?” Stiles growled.

“Go on then, boy.” Derek purely sneered.

Stiles keenly hopped off the bed and turned his back to Derek so when he slowly and mischievously pulled down his pants, Derek saw his ever ready ass.

 

_Such a tease._

 

Stiles snuck back onto the bed and bestrode Derek, rubbed his own cock for a moment, before spitting in his hand and rubbing it into his hole as a temporary fix for lube. Derek drew in a breath as Stiles sunk down on Derek’s cock. Derek quickly wrapped his fingers around each of Stiles’ hips and intended to teacher Stiles, but he knew what he was doing. Stiles jolted up and down on Derek and they both began to groan at each other; Stiles occasionally wincing.

 

“I’m going to try. Okay?” Stiles whispered and Derek only nodded. Stiles slowly slid down Derek’s shaft and met the top of his knot. Stiles tried to shimmy over it, but he flinched each time.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Derek cooed.

Stiles tried again, avid to prove Derek wrong. He ran back down the shaft and tried again, but he just couldn’t do it.

“Seriously, don’t hurt yourself, Stiles. It can be relieved by other means.” Derek advised. Stiles gave up on the knot and continued to swing himself up and down Derek’s cock until he came all over Derek’s belly.

“You’re not done?” Stiles gasped.

“It’s not that easy.”

Stiles realised Derek’s knot was still present, so he asked what to do. Derek proceeded to flip Stiles over and began to slam himself into the tight asshole. Stiles grew hard again and began to moan loudly, bringing Derek closer to climax. Although, Stiles couldn’t take his knot, he still was succulent enough to please Derek; until he pulled out, hearing a sweet pop as he came off, and came hot and sticky all over Stiles’ ass. He panted and grated his teeth together.

“Jesus Christ.” Stiles huffed, having obviously come again; onto the sheets this time.

They rolled onto the sheets, and all that was heard was deep breathing. Stiles laughed and Derek wondered why.

“I don’t know, I just don’t know what would happen if people knew I fucked a Were.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek woke to the sound of his dog tags dropping on the kitchen bench. His loft was so open he could see the kitchen from the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” He asked, seeing Stiles fumbling to be quiet, fully dressed and being acting to comfortable for Derek’s liking.

“What’s the black one?” Stiles held up the tags he had dropped. Derek became cautious. He hated talking about this.

“It was my friends.”

“Vernon B-“

“It means they didn’t make it.” Derek hissed, trying to enforce the fact he didn’t want to talk about it.

“What was it like?” Stiles asked, oblivious to Derek’s tone.

“Did you kill anyone?” He added.

Stiles was beginning to show his young side. The side where war was ‘cool’ and the side that didn’t realise it wasn’t. While Derek didn’t know Stiles’ age, he was now beginning to think teens. No, he knew it was teens.

Derek got out of bed, wrapped the sheet around his waist and headed to the kitchen. Stiles was still dangling the tags in the air.

“Well did you?”

Derek snatched the tags and slammed them on the bench.

“You should go.” Derek spoke quietly.

“What?” Stiles questioned.

“You should go. Now.”

Stiles was confused, because he didn’t know what he had done wrong. Derek walked to the front elevator gate and opened it, signalling Stiles to get in; and he did. Derek flung it shut with simplicity. He ambled back to the bench and gazed at the black tag.

 

 

_Fuck._

 


	2. Apology

Derek had headed back to bed, clutching the rusty metal of the tags. He felt dirty. It wasn’t like him to bring people home; let alone most likely underage teenage boys. It was almost like he had committed a crime…or maybe he did? This is when the paranoia starts. 

 

Was the boy trying to have underage sex with Derek to catch him out? It was rather evident that while werewolves were known, they were not liked. It was a frequent headline in the Beacon Hills news that a mole would be placed in a werewolf hang out to see what werewolves would do to them so they could be persecuted. But no matter how much Derek talked to himself and overthought about the whole situation, he was simply drawn back to the delicious sex he had partaken in. But then his eyes fell upon Boyds' name and he began to remember. 

 

A quiet but boisterous soul, Boyd was. It took them both a while to warm up to each other after being placed in the same platoon. Initially to Derek, Boyd was no more than another wolf looking for an escape. His look on Boyd changed one night when they all restlessly set up camp in the reminisce of a broken down building. Derek remembered seeing Boyd welling up on his stretcher. He had asked if he was okay, if he needed to talk, and a simple reply was said. 

 

“I’m only doing this for my mom.”

 

And it was quiet for a bit, just Derek standing over the boy and confused as to what to say.

 

“She’s low on money. She tries to love me. I thought if I gave her money, you know.”

 

Derek realised; he’d been changed not born, and his mother wasn’t fond of it. Derek lowered himself and sat on the broken cobble next to the bed and looked the boy straight in his eyes.

 

“It’s a gift. Just because she doesn’t know what it feels like to be us, just because she’s seen her son bare the moon, doesn’t mean you should feel bad.” Derek had said. They stayed up for hours, talking and sharing and attempting to console each other in the shitty refines of the war. From then on they were friends, Derek was a father figure to Boyd and Derek constantly blamed himself for the accident.

 

Derek’s eyes shifted open. He had fallen asleep again but his subconscious told him to wake when he dabbled too much into his own memories. It was dark again, but he could see that tags had ended up on the other side of the room at the base of the wall. There was a small dent in the wall as if he had thrown them there. Derek gingerly clambered off his bed and picked them up, looping them around his neck once more. 

 

* * *

 

 

What were the odds that the same mole scattered boy would be at the club the night after? Derek didn’t know. But he felt like he had to apologise or do something as a way to make it seem like he wasn’t the new resident freak that had just come back from war.

 

Stiles was here. At least Derek could smell that he was, anyway. Stiles’ scent was so strong and sweet and it was ever so invigorating. He walked in and it took only a moment to see that Stiles was occupied by another. It didn’t really hurt Derek; nothing did anymore. He just thought he would be courteous and leave. What says freak more than lurking, right? But as Derek rehashed his footsteps, a gentle hand tugged on his shirt as he was half way out the door.

 

“Hey.” 

 

Stiles voice was only just audible over the music. Derek turned back and gestured him to go further out of the door with him. Just out of reach of the music, Derek looked at Stiles.

 

“Hey, look,” Derek scratched his head. “I’m sorry about the other night.”

 

Stiles sort of squinted and wobbled a little on his feet.

 

“Oh, you’re drunk.” Derek spoke. “It was nice meeting you Stiles.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again.” Stiles pined.

 

“I never said that.” Derek said.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Stiles blurted out. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“I’m stupid for asking about the tags. I get that. But kicking me out after I had your dick in my mouth, now thats just rude.” 

 

Derek couldn’t help but laugh while Stiles stayed straight faced and staunch at what he just said.

 

“Okay, yeah, that’s why I’m apologising.”

 

“Look. I get you have some traumatic shit going on up in that cute little head of yours, but I saw you and I thought ‘hey, why not let this guy have a break’ you know? And it was thrown right back at me.”

 

Derek was taken back. He wasn’t traumatised. No. Of course he wasn’t. Or at least if he was, he hadn’t realised.

 

“I just wanted to help.” Stiles added.

 

Derek felt like a hole had been ripped through his stomach and right out through his back. The pain or the sympathy that he could or should be feeling was just flowing right through him and he didn’t feel any of it. 

 

“You know where I live. I’ll have you any time.” Derek murmured before turning to walk home.

 

“If I get tragic,” Stiles laughed. “Can I come sleep at yours? I’m meant to be driving but-“

 

“You’re not driving like this.” Derek scowled. “You’ll kill someone.” 

 

Stiles shrugged as if he was sober enough to drive.

 

“Do you have a cellphone with you?” Derek asked.

 

Stiles fumbled around and pulled out his cracked iPhone 3G from his jeans pocket. He shook it in the air as well as stumbling a bit. “Well ah yes I do, kind sir.” 

 

Derek snatched the phone from Stiles’ hand and began to put his number into Stiles’ contacts.

 

“You text or call me and I’m here to get you, okay?” Derek said, handing the phone back to the drunken boy.

 

“Yes, Sheriff!” Stiles said, saluting as he wondered back into the club. Derek shook his head and his phone went off suddenly.

 

_‘I think your stupid.’_

 

Unknown number with poor grammar. Stiles.

 

_‘*You’re.’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! I'm writing Ch3 as we speak!


	3. Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pay attention to the tags from now on as they will be coming into play.

Stiles was just about ready to go; he was woozy and numb. He drank and drank and continued to dance into the early hours of the morning. 

He managed to check his phone and saw that the clock read 3:05. He fumbled through to his inbox and saw he had no new text messages.

 

_‘i,m reayd’_

 

Stiles typed and sent the jumbled message to Derek (hopefully). He was sweating and was more than gone thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed. This was Stiles’ outlet. It was summer and he had the freedom to do what he pleased. 

Stiles aimlessly wondered outside to wait under the shelter of the neon lights from the harsh winds of Beacon Hills.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek had been waiting up for a text from Stiles. He didn’t sleep much anyway. Besides that he was concerned for Stiles’ wellbeing; if Stiles was in that state when he was there only a few hours ago, imagine what Stiles would be like now. 

And eventually his phone beeped and he read the messy text. It sort of made him smile at how much drunk Stiles attempted to type. 

Grabbing his leather jacket, he wondered to the elevator. The night was wet and windy so he decided it would be safest to escort Stiles to his home in the car; sodden pavements and wobbly legs didn't go well together. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey pretty boy,” a man murmured close to Stiles, startling him. The shadowy figure lurked close beside him, deep breathes echoing through Stiles’ shivering skeleton.

 

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

 

Stiles shuffled away slightly from the man, closer to the lights of the club.

 

“I’m waiting for a friend.” Stiles managed to say.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek pulled out in front of the club and smelt Stiles right away. What grabbed his attention more so, was that the delectable boy he was once had was pinned under another on the wall beside the club; the man running his palms over Stiles’ crotch and thighs. 

Derek sighed and thought this was some sort of stunt from Stiles to show that he wasn’t a one person boy. Stiles seemed to be that sort of type that would do something like that just to remind Derek of what he was or wasn’t going to get into. 

He reached for his keys to start the car but just as he did, Stiles’ anxiety hit him in an intense wave. A cold and acute pain that felt like the whole world was falling from beneath him. Derek wound down his window to get a better look past the foggy, wet window. And just as he did, he saw Stiles flail and attempt to push the man off of him whilst he was pinned underneath. Stiles’ groans and murmured screams were barely audible under the forced lips of the attacker. 

 

“Get..get off me…” Stiles cried, attempting to arch his back off the wall and push the unwelcomed  body off of his own. 

 

Derek swung his door open  and sprinted towards the assailant. Derek’s hands grabbed his shirt and threw the man onto the brick of the opposite wall. Derek’s eyes flared blue when he realised the man was also a wolf. The predator rose from the pavement and growled.

 

“Don’t come any closer!” Derek boomed. Stiles had slid down the concrete wall and buried his head in his knees. He was wincing, and it made Derek angry at what Stiles had to feel and endure at the hands of the low life pig; especially because Derek could comprehend what Stiles was feeling too. The man wiped his nose from the now apparent blood dripping from his quickly healing nose and growled once more.

 

“He’s your pretty mate is he?” The man scoffed, then proceeded to smell the air around him. “Oh wait. No he’s not.” 

 

“Back off.” Derek growled, his back towards Stiles in aid of protecting him. 

 

The man cackled before floundering away into the darkness of the streets.

Derek waited until he saw the mans shadow dissipate from sight before making his way to Stiles and crouching down beside him.

 

“Stiles,” he began, looking at Stiles’ head of hair as it lay buried deep within his own hold. Derek wrapped his hands around Stiles’ temples and lifted his red but washed out face, damp cheeks under Derek’s thumbs.

 

“Stiles.” Derek repeated. Stiles eventually looked up and met Derek’s eyes. Any human could look in those eyes and see the sadness that Stiles’ bore inside of him; Derek did not need any of his wolf instincts to spot that. 

Stiles quickly drew his head back into his knees as if he was ashamed to look at him. Derek could hear him crying. It was more of an agonising sob. Derek set one of his knees down and scooped his arms underneath Stiles’ cold  bones and cradled him up into his chest; making sure he was being careful in the way he was touching him. The last thing Derek wanted to do was scare Stiles even more. Stiles lay his cheek onto Derek’s warm chest and listened to the hum of his heartbeat. 

Derek walked to the car warily and strategically opened the front door to his car. He set Stiles down and buckled Stiles in then shut the door. When Derek made it back around to his side, Stiles was sitting up straight and looking at Derek in an odd sort of manner. Stiles reached over to him and rested his palm on Derek’s crotch. Derek looked at Stiles confused, and Stiles began to rub at Derek.

 

“Stiles,” Derek spoke, shifting Stiles’ hand off of his crotch. “No. It’s okay.”

 

“Isn’t that all I’m good for?” Stiles whispered. “Being used?”

 

“I don’t want to use you.” Derek affirmed, reaching out to Stiles face and resting his palm on Stiles’ cheekbones. Stiles sunk low into his seat and out of Derek's touch. He turned to face the window and lay numb in his seat, watching the streetlights pass by swiftly in a numb trance as Derek drove him back to the loft.


	4. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. Yeah. I don't know but here you go. I understand this chapter might be out of the blue or something, but I felt it kinda worked but as I said; I don't know. Please let me know what you think. Your comments help me to keep going. <3
> 
> (As per request from tumblr peeps, I warn you that PTSD themes/potential triggers may be present for some next chapter.)

Stiles stayed for a few days. They didn’t really talk much, though. Derek passed Stiles contently dozens of times a day and left as he due please as Stiles quietly padded around the cold, concrete floors aimlessly. Derek dare not talk to Stiles unless spoken to in the hopes of a quick healing, like Derek such did. All Derek craved, all he wanted to do was ask what he needed to do. Derek hadn’t really experienced this sort of thing. Most of the men he welcomed into his home, would only stay for the night. Stiles reeked of sadness. 

Derek was slightly off guard at the other presence in the house, although. It was odd knowing that someone could be around the corner or in his sorry excuse of a kitchen eating food he didn’t even buy. Derek didn’t really mind, it wasn’t a big deal, but he wasn’t so sure if he liked it. The only other person he had had in his house was Cora and Peter.

It took five days for Stiles to up and leave without warning, but Derek was only surprised for a night before returning to his old routine. He went for a run. He ran to the Nevada border and back.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

_4 months later_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Being a werewolf never paid well. No matter what profession you got into, there would always be a policy in place saying that any other species that can acquire a position in said business other than human will be subjected to lower pay rates. The human activist groups always got their way. The argument was that the Were could do too much and it didn’t even take energy, so if the Were got the humans work, humans would be out of the job. And there was only one job going around this time of year for Derek. 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek ran his fingers sourly over his tight-fitting grey singlet to get the melting snow off of himself. Beacon Hills, snowing. What a sight. 

Derek walked to the next tree, steadily gripping his axe. He was following a young boy who was avidly shouting “It’s the right one, mom! This tree!” as his mother trudged warily behind nodding and cooing at him to slow down and stop bothering the lumberjack. 

 

“Stand back please.” Derek smiled to the boy, and he excitedly ran back.

 

“Call it!” Derek added, yelling towards the kid who clapped his hands furiously.

 

“Tallyho!” The boy yelled and in one magnificent swing, Derek successfully bated down the tree. The boy traipsed back to Derek and followed him as Derek carried the tree down the snowy bank and towards a trailer the family had brought with them. 

 

“Merry Christmas.” Derek smiled to the boy, before the mother grabbed the sons shoulder and told him not to talk to strangers. 

 

“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to-“

 

“Don’t talk to my son.” The lady scowled. She handed him fifty dollars, sixty dollars short, before getting in her car and driving away. Derek didn’t really understand people like her. He was just trying to be cheery or whatever. That’s what the humans did and what Derek was told to do. 

 

“How much are the trees?” A voice murmured behind him. 

 

“Depends. Small trees are $80, medium can be around $100 to $120. If you are looking for a large one, we only have a few left and all three are $200.” Derek recited, afore turning around to see a wary and worn Stiles. Derek shifted slightly and Stiles realised too. 

 

“Stiles.” Derek said. 

 

“Can I have a small tree please?” Stiles replied. Derek remained quiet for a moment, reflecting on the tired and shivering boy that stood infront of him. He didn’t ask questions. Derek simply lead Stiles to a small tree, watched Stiles debate with himself for a moment before nodding and Derek cutting down the tree like he did for every other customer that wondered into the snowy field.

 

“Do you need me to put it in your car?”

 

“No, I’m not going to be taking it very far.” 

Stiles fumbled for his wallet and slipped eighty dollars into Derek’s jean pockets. Derek dropped the tree to the ground and watched Stiles as he grabbed the trunk and began to drag it away . 

 

“Hale!” Derek turned to see his boss standing on the hill behind him. “Let’s shut shop for today.” 

Derek nodded and returned his look to where Stiles was standing, but he was now replaced with a deep trail in the snow in which Derek lost the boy once more.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a moment for Derek’s car to start. He only drove the damn thing to fit in, otherwise he would be running home. About half way back to the loft, Derek saw him again. Still dragging the same, sad looking tree, Stiles was evidently angry. His face was pink; arguably from the cool temperatures but possibly from the unremitting angry whimper he was portraying. Derek slowed and pulled over in front of Stiles. He sauntered out of his car and waited until Stiles met up with him. 

 

“Hey,” Derek spoke, concerned. Stiles continued passed Derek.

“Hey!” Derek repeated, jogging back up next to Stiles. “Stiles. What the hell are you doing?” 

 

Stiles stopped briefly and looked up at Derek. 

“It’s for my dad.” He puffed. As Stiles took a few breathes, he accidentally let go of the tree and saw it hit the ground. Stiles looked in despair as some of the  branches snapped. “Fucking hell!” He yelled in an outburst.

 

“I’ve got it.” Derek said, attempting to reach for the tree but being smacked away by Stiles. Stiles crouched and took the tree again, walking similarly. 

 

Derek followed Stiles until they reached the Beacon Hills Cemetery only a few hundred metres away. Derek stopped at the gate and watched the peculiar boy walk through the sea of graves dragging a Christmas tree. The green of the needles was the only colour that dawned in the array of grey and white. Even Stiles wore a dreary grey shirt and black jeans; he almost looked as if he belonged as a headstone. Eventually, Stiles stopped at one the was overlooked by a magnificent marble angel; praying down at the rotting body that rested beneath Stiles’ feet. He leant the tree agains the hip of the angel and fell to the ground; sinking into the snow. 

 

Derek walked slowly to the grave, seeing that the angel was of impeccable condition compared to the others scattered around. Almost as if it was new.

 

“Dad really liked Christmas Trees.” Stiles laughed, throwing his head back in the air manically. Derek couldn’t help but smile until he saw that the stupid smile turned into a blubber.

 

 

~

**STILINSKI**

_January 19th 1965 - November 5th 2013_

_Always the sheriff of Beacon Hills_

_~_

 

Another grave rested next to the new one; almost identical but with the date January 1st 2004 for a lady named Claudia Stilinski. 

Today was the 16th of December 2013. Derek realised that within the time that Derek hadn’t seen Stiles, his father had died. His wife, Stiles’ mother, resting beside him. Together again.

 

“I just thought it’d be kinda funny, but…But now I’m here. It’s just kind of sad.” Stiles whispered. Derek sat down on the opposite side of the grave and gazed at Stiles intently. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Derek spoke.

 

“Don’t be. I’m the one who dragged a Christmas tree up to my dads grave. I should be sorry.” Stiles began to laugh again.

“You know, one time, when I was a kid. Man, I was probably ten or so. Anyway, I was at school and I was playing…Oh, what was it…I think it was lacrosse? Yeah. It was the first game I ever played. And my dad was there. And I was benched for the entire game so dad was kind of annoyed at coach but whatever and my best friend Scott handed me a cactus. I was so confused and he just said throw it. And of course, being the idiot that I was and am, I just threw it and it landed…oh man,” Stiles burst out into a torrential downpour of laughter.

 

“It hit coach in the face and my dad just stood up and said “What a prickly situation, Coach!” and I couldn’t stop laughing.” 

 

Stiles sat laughing intently for a moment until his laughing turned into a sad, low cry. He put his face in his hands.

 

“Do you need to come back to mine, Stiles?” 

 

Stiles just nodded, using his forearm to wipe his face. He seemed to have regained his composure rather quickly. Derek stood up and extended his hand to Stiles in which Stiles gladly took it and stood too. They walked through the thick snow, back to Dereks car. 

 

Stiles glanced up at Derek, his breath creating a cloud in the icy air.

 

Stiles placed his palms onto each of Derek’s cheeks and said nothing, but drew him into a deep kiss. 

 

Finally, Stiles spoke.

 

“I need this.”


End file.
